The Devouring Knight-Chapter 76 - 75: The Predator Remembers

The forest was quiet.

Not the silence of peace, but the kind of hush that followed bloodshed. A stillness that held its breath.

Lumberling moved through the underbrush like a wraith, every step whisper-soft over damp leaves. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in thin, golden ribbons, tracing across the steel of his shoulder plates. His spear rested along his back. His breath was calm.

But inside?

Tension coiled beneath his ribs.

A whisper of unease.

A long shadow cast by the past.

Almost a year...

Not since he hunted, but since he devoured.

Since he willingly reached into the fading echoes of a soul and pulled its essence into his own.

He crouched beside a moss-slick log, inspecting fresh tracks, broad, sunken prints, deep in the mud. A brute, by the look of it. Heavy, solitary. A perfect target.

Lumberling rose, eyes narrowing.

No more running. No more fear.

He followed the trail.

Minutes passed. The woods grew darker as he advanced. Twisted roots tangled like veins through the soil. Thorns scraped against his cloak.

Then, a growl.

A massive beast burst through the brush: gray fur, streaked with blood and scars, four jagged tusks jutting from its jaw. A mutated forest boar. Too large for a pack. Full of rage and instinct.

Lumberling exhaled.

Then moved.

The fight lasted seconds.

His spear soared, a blur of motion and precision. It struck clean through the boar’s throat before the creature even realized it had been seen. A wet, crunching sound. The beast stumbled, then crumpled.

Waiting.

Lumberling stepped forward, silent as the grave, and stared down at the corpse.

The air shifted.

A tendril of purple light slithered from the wound, his Essence Devour activating on its own. The boar’s soul-thread shimmered, drawn toward him like smoke on the wind.

Then.

(You have devoured the Boar’s essence. 30 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Boar’s memories and experiences.)

Warmth flooded his limbs. A rush of power surged through his chest, not violent, but steady. The usual chaos never came. No howling voices. No claws scraping at his mind. Just breath.

Just silence.

Lumberling opened his eyes.

Clear.

Steady.

Whole.

His hands trembled, not in fear, but relief.

"...I did it," he whispered, voice barely audible over the breeze.

He turned away from the corpse, his feet guiding him to a nearby stream. Kneeling, he splashed water on his face and watched his reflection ripple in the current.

Calmer eyes. Firmer shoulders. Something new beneath the surface.

Resolve.

This wasn’t something to do blindly. Power came with cost, and now, he would measure it.

He picked up a flat stone and turned it in his hand, thoughts crystallizing with each slow rotation.

From now on, he would limit the essence he devoured each month, pairing it with daily meditation and careful tracking. He would study his reactions, observe, analyze, and adapt.

No more guesswork.

He would treat it like training. Controlled. Measured.

And when he understood his limits... when he truly mastered it?

He’d share it again to the captains or soldiers. But only with those ready to bear it.

Power without control was nothing but a curse in disguise.

He rose, drying his hands on his cloak.

Then turned back toward the village.

His mind was clear.

His path, set.

.....

Somewhere deeper in the Blackroot Forest...

Branches clawed the sky. Fog veiled the roots. No birds sang. Even the wind held its breath.

"Young Master," the old knight said, pulling back a curtain of vines, "this clearing is defensible. Few monster tracks. We should rest here. The men are nearly spent."

The noble youth grimaced, dismounting with disdain. He brushed imagined dirt from his cloak.

"This entire forest is disgusting. But fine. Let them make camp. I’m not walking another step in this cursed jungle."

"Yes, Young Master," the knight said with a bow, then barked an order to the rear. "Set up a perimeter! Quickly!"

The soldiers obeyed without spirit. Helmets hung low on sweat-soaked brows. Limps and makeshift bandages marked every tenth step. They were broken men, forced marches, skirmishes, sleepless nights. What they needed was food and rest.

What they got was a nightmare.

A scream shattered the air.

Then another.

From the edge of the clearing, thick webbing erupted from the shadows, snaring a soldier mid-step. He thrashed, only for a massive leg to impale him clean through the chest.

Then it emerged.

The spider, no, the thing was easily two-thirds larger than a siege cart. Black, chitinous, and glistening with venom. Its eyes gleamed with unnatural intelligence, and its movements were faster than any beast its size had a right to be.

Had Lumberling been there, he would’ve recognized the monster instantly, Shade.

But no longer the beast it once was.

This was its second evolution.

It descended like a god of hunger, legs slicing through armor, fangs dripping with paralytic venom.

One soldier screamed as fangs tore into his side, but the cry died mid-breath. His limbs convulsed. Foam bubbled from his lips as he dropped, eyes wide, mouth frozen in an unfinished scream.

"Poison, gods, it’s poison!" another shouted, stumbling back, only to be webbed to a tree seconds later.

With a sharp snap, strands of silk hissed through the air, like taut cords being loosed from a bowstring. They hit with sickening thwacks, wrapping around limbs and weapons alike. The unlucky ones were yanked off their feet like dolls on strings.

Screams and steel clashed, but there was no formation. Only panic.

A bloodied veteran, dragging one leg behind him, turned pale as he watched the spider dodge a spear with uncanny grace.

"Run!" he howled. "It’s thinking, this thing is thinking!"

The noble youth stood a safe distance away, arms folded, watching as blood sprayed across his men.

"What’s taking them so long?" he muttered. "It’s just one spider."

The old knight frowned, hand on his sword. "It’s stronger than expected. Mid Knight Apprentice level at least."

"That’s what’s beating them? What a joke," the young noble sneered. "Did my brothers purposefully assign me the worst of the worst? We get trampled by Pentaline dogs, and now we can’t even kill a bug?!"

His jaw clenched. Always the leftovers. Always the one they sheltered, or ignored.

’If only Father could see now. I’m not just some coddled third son.’

"Your men are exhausted, Young Master," the knight said calmly. "Allow me to step in."

"And leave me to be protected by these half-corpses?" He waved dismissively toward the trembling, faltering soldiers. "Tell them to kill the damned thing. Or die trying. I’m not wasting more resources dragging them home."

The knight nodded grimly and turned. "Form ranks! Push the beast back! Reinforcements will not come!"

But they were already breaking.

One by one, the soldiers fell, to poison, to panic, to webs they couldn’t escape.

Screams echoed briefly, only to be silenced by the shifting shadows that danced among the trees. Shade moved like a living nightmare, silent, fluid, untouchable. Steel flashed. Blood sprayed. Fear thickened in the air like smoke.

As the screams died into silence and the shadows crept closer, the young noble turned away from the carnage. His jaw was tight, but his fingers twitched.

He reached beneath his cloak and brushed his thumb across a ring tied around his neck by a worn leather cord, too small for his hand now, too delicate for war. A woman’s ring. Plain gold, dulled by time.

His lips moved silently. A word. A name, maybe.

High above, unnoticed by both hunter and hunted, a golden eagle traced wide, deliberate circles through the sky.

It wasn’t alone.

Perched on a nearby branch, half-hidden in foliage, a goblin scout crouched, cloak mottled to match the bark and shadows. One hand gripped the reins of the eagle, now resting and calm on a thick leather gauntlet.

He squinted downward. What he saw made his breath catch.

A massacre.

The soldiers had no chance. The way the creature moved... it wasn’t natural.

His pulse quickened.

Swiftly, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a thin strip of bark parchment. With quick, practiced strokes, he scrawled a message in sharp goblin script:

"Unidentified evolved spider spotted. Extremely fast. Silent. Highly dangerous. 300 human soldiers in full iron armor entered Blackroot Forest. Affiliation: Sengolio crest confirmed. Intent unknown. Scout Unit Alpha."

He rolled the message tight, slid it into the small leather tube on the eagle’s leg, then gave a low whistle.

The eagle let out a soft cry, lifted into the sky, and veered sharply east, wings cutting through the wind with growing urgency. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Back toward the goblin village.

Back to Lumberling.

.....

The battlefield stilled.

Limbs twitched. Blood pooled. The scent of iron laced the air like perfume. Webs hung from branches like grotesque banners, and torn Sengolio banners sagged beside them, prey and pride, both wrapped in silk.

Shade moved slowly now. Not out of fatigue... but thought.

It loomed above a dying soldier, its mandibles twitching, not in hunger, but curiosity.

Before its second molt, it would have feasted mindlessly, satisfied by instinct alone.

But something had changed.

There was clarity behind those glassy eyes. A whisper at the edge of thought. Not words, but meaning.

Pattern. Weakness. Tactics.

The prey had fought in waves.

Why?

A flash of formation. Shields locked. Thrusts aimed at the legs.

Why target the legs? Why move as one?

The concept of strategy unfurled inside its mind like a new strand in an old web. Not perfect, not sharp yet, but growing.

It stepped over a corpse and tilted its head toward the old knight who still fought. Graceful. Precise.

Dangerous.

Shade watched the man’s footwork. The narrow pivots. The control. A flicker of something deep within, recognition. It had seen movements like this before.

When?

Another memory surfaced.

A spear... black armor... a human... no, not human... him.

The one who burned with hunger.

Lumberling.

Its limbs tensed involuntarily. Not from fear.

But desire.

To fight him again.

Not as prey.

Not as predator.

As a rival.

It reared up, letting out a hissing cry, not the mindless screech of a beast, but a call that echoed with eerie rhythm. Measured. Intimidating.

It was no longer a simple monster.

It had memory now.

Emotion.

Intention.

It wanted.

It would grow stronger.

It would learn.

It would molt again.

And when the time came...

It would hunt him again.

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